Imaginary Hallucinations
by writing.ontheImpala
Summary: After meeting Sasquatch and Green, I might have a chance at a normal life. But can I over come the "conditions" that control me? Or will I be stuck with my imaginary hallucinations?
1. Chapter 1- Imaginary Hallucinations

My closet was dark. Not just regular dark, but dark as in can't see your hand in front of your face, dark. I have been sitting in the same position for over two hours. My phone died after the two-hour mark. I was nestled in the corner behind and underneath some boxes and shelves that formed walls around me. I couldn't get to my parents closet in time though. Theirs has a hidden compartment behind a mirror that leads to a safe room. The safe room has all kinds of stuff, like food, water, and a phone charger.

I woke up at 3 am to the alarm going off and footsteps running up and down the hallways. I tried to get to my parents room but the footsteps that came from around the corner forced me back into my room. I pushed the dresser in front of my door a quietly as possible. I heard footsteps, but I never heard them stop. They just, ceased to exist.

I heard footsteps outside my bedroom door and them trying to get into my room. I heard the dresser scrape across the hardwood as my breath quickened. I tried to calm down and placed a hand over my mouth to muffle the sounds. Two body shaped shadows passed in front of my closet door.

"Maybe no ones in here?" I heard a man ask.

"Yeah and who would barricade the door from the inside?" a different voice asked.

"I don't know Dean. What if they went out the window?" I heard a shush and knew the other man had figured out about the closet.

Light poured in as the French doors opened. I closed my eyes and silently prayed whoever it was didn't find me. I heard the rustling of clothes as they were pulled back along the clothes rack. The footsteps grew closer and my breaths became shallower. Then the movement stopped, for a second I though they left and I exhaled. Which was my first mistake.

The boxes that surrounded me came crashing to the ground. I saw two men in front of me, both very tall, but one was slightly shorter. I don't know whether it was the lack of air that decided to go my lungs or my fear but my second mistake was made. I passed out.

* * *

I woke up later with my hands and feet tied in the back of a car. I must have been exhausted because I blinked and I was back to sleep.

* * *

The second time I awoke, my hands and feet were still tied just not to each other. I was strapped down to a bed and surrounded by metal walls. I didn't scream. I didn't try and move. I just laid back down and stared at the star on the ceiling.

I sat there for what felt like hours before I heard footsteps. Instinctively, I closed my eyes and steadied my breathing. I guess I didn't breathe slowly enough, because as soon as the second the door opened, four men rode my ass. One was abnormally large, one had really green eyes, one was in a trench coat, and the fourth was an older man in a worn baseball cap.

"She's awake Dean," a gravelly voice said.

"She's clearly sleeping, Cas," the man who I presumed to be Dean answered.

"I can hear her thoughts, she's been awake for hours," Cas said. The second he mentioned being able to read my mind, my walls went flying up, along with the fact that I tried to keep my mind blank.

"Why didn't she scream?" a deep yet softer voice than the others asked.

"Maybe she's in shock," an older, slightly accented voice suggested.

_It wouldn't be the first time,_ I thought. Being bipolar had its moments. Sometimes I was overly happy, like bouncing off the walls crazy, and other times, I was so depressed, I didn't even get up to pee.

I am diagnosed with ADHD, Schizophrenia, OCD, Social Anxiety Disorder, and Bipolar Disorder. I was basically every psych doctor's guinea pig to test _new and improved_ meds and treatments. I have been on lithium, anticonvulsants, antipsychotics, antidepressants, Adderall, Dextrostat, Clozaril, and so many others I can't pronounce their names. And if it weren't for the antidepressants, I would feel depressed because I'm a walking, talking test tube for them.

The doctors could never figure out why I had so many disorders tied to my imaginative and emotional parts of my brain. Usually there is an explanation, but for me it just was.

I was eight.

I am now twenty-five.

I was used to being strapped down. I was used to trying to kill myself in my sleep (let's just stay if I hadn't slammed the kitchen drawer, the blood that circulates in my neck, would be short a few CCs). I was used to the hallucinations. I was used to the nightmares. It had gotten to the point where the only thing that scared about the nightmares, was how I sometimes ended up outside and dirty. It had gotten to the point to where I lived in a mental hospital for over three years.

I was homeschooled (if you could even call it that). I had three friends: my mom, dad, and grandmother. And then sometimes if I was lucky, a dog from one of the programs would come into my hospital room for thirty minutes then leave to make someone else feel better then shitty again.

I was also used to the stares. When I would walk around town with my parents or Gran, teenagers that I used to be friends with (before my diagnosis) stared at me. I would hear them whisper about "the psycho," or that I "was tripping on so many drugs, they might as well send me to Wonderland." The one that hurt the most was after I tried going back to school.

Sophomore year, I wanted to try and be normal. I was already ahead of everyone because of my "homeschooling" (which was more like me doing an entire college textbook on some subject in a month or two) so I wasn't worried about my grades. I was worried about the stares. I wanted to go to homecoming, be a cheerleader. I had even made the team, not that anyone on the team was particularly nice to me, they weren't mean either. I stayed out of everyone's way and just hit my motions with a fake smile while being tossed and caught by girls who probably feared me.

It was right before the homecoming rally in late October. I walked up to my locker after cheer practice, and "psychopath" was painted in red block letters on my locker door. I heard some people behind me snickering but I just turned around and walked in the girl's bathroom. I suppose everyone thought I went in there to cry, but really I just got wet paper towels. Everyone's expression turned from amused to shock in about two seconds. I just wiped the word the best I could with everyone staring at me. Once I was satisfied I had done all I could, I went and threw away the towels in the trashcan near the snickering girls. I looked their "Queen Bee" right in the eyes as I tossed them in.

I turned back and started gathering up books. The people started to disappear but they all came rushing back when the girl poured her coffee on my head. I didn't cry, didn't shout, but I let a few of the other cheerleaders who saw this go down escort me to the locker room. They stripped me down and put me in the shower. They gave me some of their practice clothes to wear after I got out so I wouldn't walk around in my stained ones.

In the days that followed, I had grown close to my cheer friends. They thought I didn't hear them have the secret meeting before practice the night after my coffee shower. Basically, they all agreed that I would never be left alone. I had at least one class with any of them and I sat at the cheer table during lunch. I had grown close to them. I really liked this one girl, Cara. Her stepbrother was bipolar so she understood what I was going through. She knew how to handle me when I had a Social Anxiety attack, and we weren't quite sure how I didn't get one after the coffee thing.

I had been nominated for Homecoming Queen, but wasn't elected. I went with a guy on the Lacrosse team who's name was Scott, and we dated afterwards. I finished out high school but the little attacks on me kept coming.

Someone had found out I was deathly afraid of spiders, and whenever I see them, I get really bad panic attacks. Someone put plastic spiders in my locker, so when I opened them, they all fell out. When they didn't move, I knew they were fake, but I couldn't stop the oncoming attack. Cara and another girl, Melissa, who I was also really close with, got me to the locker room, where they handled my panic attack. Obviously the school knew about my "conditions" so when Cara informed Coach Steel, they pulled Scott from class because he was one of the only people who could calm me down.

I was grateful for my little friends and eventually went to college with Scott and Cara. Cara and I roomed together and Scott and I had a lot of classes together. We all graduated, Scott and I were basically engaged until he disappeared. Right off the map. Cara and I searched and searched, but she disappeared as well.

Their disappearances caused more attacks, hallucinations, nightmares. My mother grew so concerned she had me committed to a mental hospital for another three years.

I had just gotten out a week ago, and now I was back to being chained up in an unknown location, so I just readily assumed it was a nightmare or a hallucination. The best way for me to get rid of them was for me to set myself apart, realize they aren't real.

Don't respond. Don't glance their way.

And _don't_ give them your name.

Once they had your name, they could track down any person you ever loved, anyone that ever showed kindness to you, and hurt them. Kill them.

So when the four men asked my name, I didn't respond. I had already opened my eyes, but took up counting the bolts on the ceiling.

"Hey, do you mind telling us your name so we can help you?" a gruff man asked. I think it was that Dean guy, but I refused to look at him.

When the hallucinations start to touch me, is when I crumble. Slowly at first. Then all at once, I break down and give in. I would have been a horrible POW. Especially if I was a spy that knew a lot of information. I would crumble after one flick of a knife. One flick of a whip.

"Darlin, we can't help you, can't tell you what happened to your friends, your parents, if you don't tell us your name," an older voice said. _62, 63, 64, 65…_

Time passed before the gravelly voice spoke: "She's not responding Dean. She cut me off from her mind. She isn't thinking about anything other than the bolts on the ceiling. She's counted almost 80," he trailed off.

"I don't care if she gets to a thousand, Cas. Do the zappy, finger-to-forehead thing and figure out who she is."

I stopped counting at the mention of touch. I whipped my head towards the voices and started to shake. _Oh no,_ I thought. My mind was racing, _if he touches me, I'm dead. If he places any amount of skin on mine, I will throw up on the spot. I can feel it in my stomach right now. He better not take a step closer to me or I'll scream. Scream and throw up. That's what I'll do, scream and throw up._

He walked towards me and placed his middle and index finger to my forehead. I started to convulse. My vocal chords couldn't work, though, because of how hard I started to throw up. I was trying to keep it down, but couldn't. I started choking on it because of my position. The bodies that were also in the room went to untie me, while the vomit was spilling out the side of my mouth, and forcing it's way to my lungs.

_This is how I'm going to die._ I thought. _What a stupid way to die. Choking on your own vomit. _

But I didn't die.

Somehow, the four men had untangled me from my straps. I kneeled on the floor of the circular room, convulsing into a bucket that wasn't there before. I sat there until my stomach decided it was done. When I finished, I was handed a wet towel. I wiped off my face and hands then laid back down on the bed. I put my arms and legs in the correct positions to be tied back down, as per the drill.

Yet, no one tried to tie me down. I was grateful; however, skeptical.

I turned my head to the men, who were just staring at me. I usually didn't mind he stares of fear, pity. But the curiosity and sadness that filled their eyes, made me feel uncomfortable. I went back to counting the bolts. _101, 102, 103, 104, 105, 106…_

"We aren't going to tie you down, darlin. When you first got here you tried offing yourself so many times, we had to do something to keep you alive. That and you came at Dean with a nail file so," the older ma's voice was serious, calm, sweet, and inviting. I almost wanted to like it.

They waited for me to respond but I kept trying to distance myself from the hallucination. _135, 136, 137…_

"She's still counting the bolts," the gravelly voice said. "From what little I saw, she thinks this is a hallucination. She has several mental disorders: Bipolar disorder, Schizophrenia, OCD, Social Anxiety Disorder, and ADHD. And some the doctors couldn't classify. Dean, this girl has serious issues."

"Thanks for stating the obvious," I mumble. _Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I acknowledged it. I acknowledged him. No, no, no, no._

"What did you say?" the hard yet soft voice asks. I don't acknowledge him.

It will only bring me more pain.

More suffering.

They wait in silence, exchanging knowing glances. Probably wondering when, and if, I'm going to talk. They'll lose themselves in the silence before I talk.

Yet somewhere,

somewhere really deep in my brain,

I know.

I know this isn't a hallucination.

I just want it to be.

* * *

**hey beautiful followers!**

**i hope you like this idea. i kinda just thought of it and ran. review and let me know if you have any idea, comments, or concerns!**

**xoxo -L**

**disclaimer: i don't own Supernatural, only my OC (don't worry we'll learn her name :) )**


	2. Chapter 2- Vietnam

_Somewhere really deep in my brain,_

_I know._

_I know this isn't a hallucination._

_I just want it to be._

* * *

I'm still staring at the ceiling while the men talk quietly amongst themselves. They don't think I can hear them, but they are not being very quiet.

"Well, we can't just keep her locked up down here. I mean people are going to start looking for her if they realize what's happened," the gruff man said.

"Dean, what can we do? There is obviously a lot going on with her. If we can just find out her name, we can research her and find out anything we want to know, okay?" the tall man asked. I assume he and this Dean fellow are close because they banter like an old married couple.

I get up from the bed, since I'm no longer tied down, and go to the metal desk they kept in what they refer to as "the panic room". I rummage through some drawers and finally find a pen and paper. I start doodling and by this time, they have figured out I'm no longer counting the bolts. I start sketching my name, along with the symbols that fill my mind constantly. The doctor's wondered where I had learned them, but they have kind of always been there.

All four men crowd around me, watching the pen's strokes liter the paper. When I'm finished, I slowly push back the chair and head back to the bed. I curl up in a fetal position, facing the wall.

"Well, we have a name," the man called "Dean" said.

* * *

Hours later (well, it could have been minutes but it felt like hours), the men came back to the "panic room" and started to ask me questions.

I didn't answer.

Any of them.

"Can you tell us anything about the night when we found you?" the tall one asked.

No response.

"What happened? Were your parents and grandmother acting strange at all that day?" green eyes asked.

No answer.

"Can you tell us anything about your life? I mean, you have at least grown to trust us enough to give us your name," Sasquatch said. He raised his eyebrows and gave me a puppy dog look. I almost broke my vow of silence but then someone coughed (Dean, I think) and it broke me from my trance.

Again, no answer.

"Okay this is getting to be ridiculous," green eyes said. He pulled a gun from the back of his pants and aimed at me. I scooted against the wall and curled up in a ball. "Answer the goddamned questions, bitch."

"Whoa, Dean. Put the gun away. You can send her into an anxiety attack," Sasquatch said.

"Dean! What has gotten into you, boy!" the old man screeched. I felt my throat closing and the walls coming down on me. I looked around and saw the walls slowly crushing the air that occupied the "panic room". I heard shouting and banging. My vision started to blur as tears formed in my eyes. I started to hyperventilate.

Air supply to my lungs was cut off.

I shook and couldn't stop shaking. I was vaguely aware that my vocal chords were working to form some sort of word that resembled "stop". I kept seeing the gun pointed at my head through the blurry vision my tears created.

It never moved, never faded.

Two fingers touched my forehead and everything went dark.

* * *

When I woke up, I was still in the "panic room". Trench coat was sitting in the chair at the desk looking blankly at the wall on the opposite side of the room. He noticed I was awake, walked out and shut the door behind him. I flopped back down on the bed and huffed out the air that had returned to my body.

About five minutes later, all four men returned, the tall one carrying a tray of food. He set it down on the edge of the bed. He slowly backed up and stood next to the other men. They all watched me as I slowly scooted over to the food. It was a piece of chicken, wild rice, and mashed potatoes. There was another plate sitting on the desk that looked like pie.

I hate pie.

I slowly took a bite of the chicken after I cut it. I cut the whole piece into smaller pieces then set the knife down on the bed like I had to at the hospitals. They didn't want me to take the knife kill myself, hurt an orderly, or something. I never objected. Everyone had to do it so it wasn't like I was a flight risk.

They looked at me in confusion, as if they expected me to keep my knife on my plate. I shooed it with my free hand, and green eyes took the knife and set it next to the pie. I took a bite of the chicken and when I looked down it was covered in maggots and worms. The rice had turned into something; I have no idea what. I pushed the tray away and scooted away from it coughing at the maggots that crawled inside my mouth.

Like I said, I have gotten worse since Cara and Scott disappeared.

This never used to happen. I hadn't had an attack in two weeks (which was pretty good considering I got one at least once a day) up until Scott disappeared.

The police still hadn't found them.

The four took my tray away and Sasquatch sat on my bed and tried to comfort me. He reached his hands out and I screamed.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" I yelled. Everyone stopped what they were doing to look at me. Tears clouded my vision. "Don't, don't touch me," I said quietly this time.

"It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you," Sasquatch said. He shifted closer to me with his hands in front of him.

"Don't. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I… I… just stop please. Please, stop," I cried. The words were barely a whisper. Sasquatch kept scooting closer to me but when he enveloped me in a hug, I started to melt, but saw something out of the corner of my eye.

_He found me. _I thought. _I haven't seen him since college. I thought I got rid of him. Oh no, no, no._ I started to scream into Sasquatch's chest, pounding on him to release him.

When his grip finally loosened, I scrambled as fast as I could off the bed and ran towards the door. I started pounding on it.

"LET ME OUT! HE'S HERE!" I looked back towards green eyes where the man was standing. He was leaning against the wall where he raised his hand and twiddled his fingers in greeting. I looked down, and the hem of my flannel pants had caught fire and was slowly spreading over the pant legs, up towards my torso.

Obviously me trying to put out the flames that were on my pants, had to look like some type rain dance. The flames wouldn't cease so I just shrugged off my pants and chucked them at the man. Instead of hitting him, it hit green eyes, who immediately burst into flames.

"No, no, no," I ran over to my bed and wrapped my blanket around him and pushed him onto the ground. Then two rather large arms plucked me off of green eyes and plopped me onto the bed. The arms encircled me and I found a comfort there that I didn't know existed outside of Scott.

I cried into the chest that held me and wept. He rocked me back and forth in his lap, cooed to me. Told me it would be all right. I looked over his shoulder, and saw the man standing in the corner. My breaths grew shallow as he started to walk towards me.

He was inches from my face and yelled the first words he ever said to me all those years ago:

"GOOD MOOORNNNINNNG VIETNAAAM!"

* * *

When my eyes opened, Sasquatch was the big to my little spoon. He had his arm wrapped around my torso, which made me panic.

I scrambled out of his grasp rather abruptly and all but fell on the "panic room" door. The quick movements I made, woke him up.

"Hey, Hey," he said getting on the floor. He was on his knees as he started to make his way over to me. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. I just stayed down here last night after you passed out to make sure you were okay. You kinda fell asleep in my arms and wouldn't let go of my shirt, or else I would have brought a cot down and slept on that. It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you." He got up and held his out for me to take.

Reluctantly I grabbed it, and stood up.

"Do you think you're ready to take a shower?" he asked. I liked his smile. It reminded me of Scott's. I nodded my head and sat back down on the cot.

"Hey Cas," he called. "Can you come open the door?" The door immediately flung open. And Trench coat stood there looking at us. Sasquatch held out his hand and I took, less reluctant as before, but still reserved. He helped me out of the "panic room" and up stairs. He held onto my hand and elbow as I walked up the stairs. The top of the stairs was a hallway that opened up to kitchen that was connected to a study. To my right there was a door that led outside. To my left, there was a set of stairs that led up to the second floor and a hallway that also led to the study and other rooms farther down the hall. Sam led me up the stairs and through another hallway.

"Here's the bathroom," he said as he opened a door. I looked in and saw a sink in the counter, and a tub shower that blocked off the toilet from the door. "I'll wait outside the door. Holler if you need anything." He closed the door behind him

I looked at myself in the mirror and realized I look like shit. I looked like death had taken over my body and I was just an empty shell. I was all sharp angles and bony points. _After I take this shower, I'm going to exercise my ass off following a fifteen-course meal._

I stripped down and got into the warm water. I rubbed the grime off of me, washed my hair, and shaved. Oh good Lord, did my pits need to be shaved. I got out and wrapped myself in a towel. I was about to get dressed, but realized I had no clothes. I didn't want to use my voice with them yet, because for me that's like going to third base (and third base with me is like trying to score during the world cup: hard to do). They had to earn it.

And yes, while I did trust them a lot (some more than others), they hadn't earned the sound of my actual voice just yet. Again, yes they heard me shriek like a pterodactyl during one of my attacks, but my voice was scared to me.

I opened the door slightly and saw Sasquatch sitting against the wall on the other side of the hallway. He looked up and saw that I was in a towel. He blushed and looked the other way. I went over and sat down next to him. I had my dirty pajamas folded in my hands and I stared at them. He turned and noticed what I was holding.

"Oh, yeah. You don't have any clothes, do you?" He asked. I shook my head while he stood up. He reached out a hand towards me and helped me up. "You can borrow some of mine and Dean's clothes." He walked into bedroom that had two doubles on either side of the room. He shuffled through two different duffle bags and pulled out multiple items of clothing. "Here you, go. A pair of Dean's sweats that are too short, a pair of his _clean_ boxers, one of my t-shirts, a Stanford sweatshirt that was my ex-girlfriends and should fit, and an old wife beater that doesn't fit Dean anymore so you can make some sort of bra out of that if you want." I took them and nodded my head. I was about to head back to the bathroom when he spoke again, "You can change in here if you want. I'll make sure no one comes upstairs so they can't accidentally walk in on you. Tomorrow, if you want, we can go and get you some new clothes and toiletries." He walked out and shut the door behind him.

I looked around the room and found a knife. I cut the tank top so it would fit more like a sports bra. There was a first aid kit on the desk in the room, so I used the dental floss and stitching needle through the fabric to make it a bit tighter. I slipped it on, impressed that it fit exactly like my expensive one from Nike, except for the slight nipplage. I put on the t-shirt over my make shift bra, then the boxers, then sweats. I had to roll the top of the sweats to make them fit my waist and roll the pant legs so they wouldn't drag on the floor. I wasn't quite cold enough to wear the sweatshirt so before I went to talk to the boys, I quietly slipped down to the basement and put the sweatshirt on the bed in the "panic room".

I tip toed back up the stairs and halfway up the ones that led to the second floor so if anyone saw me, I would be going down, not up.

I walked into the study and went over to the couch and sat down. Green eyes looked at me funny then turned to Sasquatch.

"Are those my sweats?" he asked. It sounded like he was pissed, but I couldn't tell.

"Yeah, and that's my shirt, she's wearing a _clean_ pair of your boxers, and your old wife beater, which I suggested she fashion into a bra of sorts. Did you do that?" Sasquatch asked. I nodded. I got up and on my tippy toes, gave him and green eyes a kiss on the cheek to show my thanks. They both blushed and looked anywhere in the room but at me.

"Look, Kid," green eyes said finally looking me in the eye. "We need to talk."

**Dean's POV**

To say that she didn't look hot after cleaning up and walking around in my sweats would be a lie. She looked fucking hot. She long light brown, almost on the verge of a dark blonde, hair, tanned olive skin, and big hazel eyes.

_Too bad she was cuckoo for cocoa puffs_.

And when she kissed my cheek though, I had to think of my dad in a speedo to stop from getting a boner. I mean she had big breasts too, and since she wasn't wearing an actual bra, you could sometimes see her nipples. That alone could have set me off.

But we had business to take care of, so Little Dean needed to take a chill pill.

"Look, Kid," I say to her. "We need to talk."

Of course she didn't respond back, so Sam prompted her: "They night we rescued you, and yes, we did rescue you, your parents and grandmother were killed by a bad guy. We came in trying to stop him, cause that's what we do, and by the time we got there, your family was already dead and we were searching the house to make sure no one else was there, including the bad guy. I'm really sorry this is the way you had to find out, but it's the truth. And since we think this bad guy is targeting you, we are going to keep you safe for a while okay?"

She looked blankly at the wall with a bookshelf before slowly closing her eyes. She got up and walked out of the house. Of course we all follow her out into the junkyard.

I don't think she was expecting this, but she just rolled with it. She picked up a tire iron that was lying on the hood of a Junker and walked over to a car with all its windows. She smashed the first one, causing the rest of us to jump. She just kept smashing the car, the window, taillights, headlights, anything that would break.

And we let her.

We let her until she fell to the ground and gave up.

She gave up trying to be strong.

She just gave up and cried.


	3. Chapter 3- Strike a Match

They didn't lock me up in the panic room. I slept on the bed in one of the spare rooms with Sam in the armchair. I didn't want to be her. I just wanted to go home.

So I did.

I walked right out the front door of the house and down the driveway. When I got to the road. I didn't know which way I had come from, so I took a chance and went right.

I have been walking for at least an hour. I saw the man once and ignored him. He went away. I have been asked by sweaty old men if I need a ride, but I politely decline saying that I like the crisp summer breeze. I wasn't bothered again.

The sun is now rising and I bet the men have already figured out I'm gone. And if they haven't already, they soon will.

In my mind, fate has everything to do with how the world works. Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos are the ones who determine what happens to you in your life, how long you live it, and how you will die living it. In my mind, if the men at that house find me then the Fates have destined it and I won't fight it. If they don't then I'll mourn quietly with my crazy, and not bother anyone ever again.

Everything in life happens for a reason. When you strike a match, it starts a fire. This is because the chemical compounds of the match head and on the striker work together to create fire. Fire burns everything it has access to because of the oxygen in the air fueling it. If a fire burns a field of grass, the ashes will eventually absorb back into the soil, fertilizing the Earth. Once the nutrients are absorbed, new life can grow over the devastation that was once there.

Also, nothing new has come from the time we, as humans, have spent on this Earth. We have learned how to use the materials given to create new things, but nothing truly new has come. When we see salt, we don't think of the elements that make it up. To us it's just there. Table salt, or sodium chloride, is made up of sodium and chlorine. Salt isn't "new", it doesn't just exist. Something older came along and made it "new".

It takes two older human beings to make a smaller new one, composed of old material. So in theory, even humans are new, old people.

I want to make a difference in my life by composing new old thoughts that have probably existed in somebody else's mind somewhere. But I can't. I'm just too closed off to the idea of new old things.

And bringing this back to fate, I hear the roar of a car behind me slowing down. I turn to see it's the one that I passed back at the house. I turn back around and keep walking. The car stops and two sets of steps catch up with me. A hand touches my shoulder, which I immediately shrug off.

_You know what screw Fate. I don't want to be around the people who could only save __me__._

"C'mon, it's really early in the morning and you should get food in you since you didn't eat the other night," Sasquatch said to me. He had these puppy dog eyes that made me want to bear my soul to him but I held back.

Because I was afraid. I was afraid he'd end up dead, like my parents and Gran, or missing like Scott and Cara.

I was afraid that given the chance I would fall for either one of the boys, green eyes or Sasquatch.

I was afraid to be loved. Everyone who has _ever_ loved me is gone.

I wanted to bear my soul. I wanted to fall in love. I wanted to feel what it's like to be loved again.

But I can't have that.

So I closed myself off, screwed Fate up her golden spindle, and kept walking away. I kept walking away from what felt right and towards what I knew was wrong. I kept walking towards that part of me that shuts down, that part of me who's depressed, that part of me who can't gather the courage to talk to other people and blames it on her voice _being sacred to her_.

I kept walking towards the dark parts of me when I should have been running towards the light.

And the sad part was, as I kept walking, as I kept shrugging off hands on my shoulders or arms, I knew what I was doing. I was shutting down intentionally. I was shutting down my good thoughts, my happy thoughts, the thoughts that made me laugh.

But I kept walking.

I kept shutting down.

I knew that green eyes and Sasquatch would keep following me until they got it their way, which was for them to haul me back to their house. I ignored them until something green eyes said slowed me down.

"I know what you're doing," he called. I stopped walking but didn't turn around to face him. "You… you're shutting down. Telling yourself it's okay to feel that way because of something's that wrong with you. Trust me, I know. I did the same thing. I still do the same thing," he paused. "Whenever I start to feel, whenever I start to be happy, it feels like it all just slips through my fingers like grains of sand. It always there, just never yours to keep. But trust me, from someone with enough experience in pain, suffering, loss, and even a bit of depression, it's ten times better to feel crappy and give two shits then feel crappy and don't care if you die the next day." I turn and face him. Sasquatch looks at him surprised, but all I see are the tears streaming from a pair of green eyes.

"When I was little, I had to look out for my younger brother," he looks at Sasquatch. _Well I now know their relationship status,_ "My father always told me, 'Take care of Sammy,' 'Shoot first ask questions later.' And when I was eighteen and Sammy was in high school, I didn't get to leave my family and go to college, I got to stay back and keep watching out for him because our father didn't have the emotional ability too. Yet he would come back from a job, and thought he ruled the world.

"From around seventeen to twenty-one, I was depressed. I got into lots of trouble with the law and didn't care. A couple years ago, I was dying, and didn't give a flying shit. But Sam did. He snapped me out of it and made me fight, so I did. I fought as hard as I could and I'm still standing here today. Let us, my brother and I, snap you out of it, this funk you're in. When my dad died, even though he was the king of dicks, I loved him and bottled up everything I know you're feeling, inside. When I finally exploded, shit hit the fan, and I was cleaning it up for at least a year." He had started to walk closer to me but hadn't noticed till now. He was a foot away and Sasquatch was close behind him.

"Please let us help you. Because I know that if it was me, hell it was me, I would want somebody cheering me on." I think it's time I talk.

"You know that would be nice," I say. They both stare at me in shock. I don't think they expected me to respond. "I want that. I need that, that cheering on. The help. But I can't have it. Every colorful, beautiful, good thing I touch never stays golden. I turn it and twist it into something I don't like but think that's what's best for me. I take the evil and the deranged shit that comes from my nightmares and hallucinations, and make it real. I have a social disorder that makes it hard for me to speak to people. Then I take and blame it on the fact that my voice is sacred and doesn't need to be heard by everyone. And yeah I know what you're going to say, 'Well, at least you recognize the problem. Once you recognize and acknowledge it you can work to make it better or go away altogether.' I know. I've heard it before from my therapist. And I have tried. I've tried so hard. It just never seems to be good enough."

"I get it, but you can't-" Dean started.

"Yes, I can give up! I have nothing, no one who loves me anymore. The psycho man from my hallucinations is back. I don't have a family. I just want to check into to mental ward and rot there. That way I won't be a burden on you, your friends and family, and I can just mourn with my crazy."

"Um, yeah. Not gonna happen. You may think of yourself as a burden to us, but you're not," Sasquatch says. "You could be one the nicest people we have ever met, and you walk away now and we won't be able to see that. Do you remember what it's like to laugh?" I shake my head. I don't. I can't remember the last time I did. "We could help you laugh again. Not only will it be good for you, it will be good for us to see how we can make a positive difference in your life."

We stand there all staring at each other. I look from green eyes to Sasquatch, and down to the ground.

_Pro: they seem to want to get to know me. Con: they could be serial killers._

_Pro: they want to love me. Con: I want to love them._

_Pro: they sort of understand. Con: I don't know what's it's like to be normal._

Really, the pros outweigh the cons in this situation, but that doesn't mean I want them to.

"Fine you win. The puppy dog eyes got me though," I say to Sasquatch. He smirks and we walk back to their car. "I have some conditions though."

"Okay. Lay it on us," green eyes says.

"First, there has to be an unlimited supply of bacon, cheese, and chips. They ain't there, I'm not staying."

"Done," Sasquatch laughs.

"Second, if I start to have a hallucination and try and kill myself, or you, stop me. I don't care how. If you have to knock me out with a shovel, by all means, just stop it. Thrird, if you can't find me in the morning, don't freak out I'm probably just outside somewhere. I sleep walk a lot and somehow always end up outside and dirty. Fourth, you have to tell me about what you do," they start to object, but I just keep talking. "No. Don't tell me you won't, cause if you try and hide it from me, I will runaway, find out what you do, and do it by myself got it?" They nod. "And finally, I need to know your names." I cross my arms and wait for their response.

"I'm Dean Winchester and this is my younger brother Sam," green eyes says. I nod and start walking ahead of them to their car. I turn around and look over my shoulder back to the boys.

"Hi, Sam and Dean. My name is Lennox Sinclair."


	4. Chapter 4- Forest Fever

**A/N: bonjour mes amis. I started school again as is evident from the lack of updating. I'm sorry for the wait and I am so grateful for all of the reviews/follows/favorites on all of my stories. As of right now, I have another story posted and it will be keep being updated too. I appreciate your commitment and support for this story. **

**Just as a side note, I studied all of these social disorders in extent but if I leave something out, provide facts that aren't true, or offend you in any way, shape, or form, please let me know in a PM or review, and I will be happy to get back to let you know I changed it for a reason or am just completely brain farting and am being disrespectful. I do have multiple people in my life and people in their lives who deal with mental illness, so I will try to be as respectful as I can be. **

**P.S. did any one get ****The Outsiders**** reference I made in the last chapter? I did…**

**Thanks for you for reading. And if you have any ideas for me please let me know and I will take them into consideration. Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural**

* * *

"_My name is Lennox Sinclair."_

I was sitting down in the study of the old man's house. I have now come to learn that his name is Bobby and the one in the Trench coat is Cas. Bobby is really nice. I like him because he reminds me of my grandfather. That sweet smile he has shows me that under the tough exterior he really is a big teddy bear.

Cas on the other hand might as well have been a baby in a trench coat. He has absolutely zero concept of personal space and when you are coming out of the shower and he just happens to be there… well, it's awkward.

They, the psychopaths I mean, told me what they do. They told me they are currently hunting the devil. I laughed. They, however, weren't kidding.

Sam has demon blood. Cas is an angel. Bobby is an old genius in a wheelchair. Dean is the Michael Sword. I, however, am the schizo bipolar girl they saved from the demons who possessed my family and probably took my friends.

But other than that, all was normal at Singer Salvage.

Like I said, sitting in the study. The "hunters", as they called themselves, gathered around books while I occupied my time watching the mice in the corner of the room chase each other. It was funny; they were making such a racket I'm surprised nobody else looked over at them.

One of the mice was scurrying away and tripped and did about five somersaults. I started giggling and I felt eyes boring into my soul. I looked over at the four men and shrugged.

"What?" I asked. "It was funny."

"What was funny, Len?" Dean asked. He had taken up to calling me "Len" instead of "Lennox". But it's not like I minded it.

"The mice."

"What mice?"

"The ones in the corner," I said pointing. Sam and Dean looked at each other before looking to the corner I pointed to. The mouse tripped again and I giggled.

"Oh," Sam said. He gave Dean a pointed look, and after they finished eye conversing, Dean sighed in what I assumed to be understanding. "The mice in the corner, what are they doing now?"

I looked and saw that they were chasing a mouse that had the tiny block of cheese. I relayed the information and Sam just smiled.

"That is funny. I can see what why you laughed," he smiled at me and then turned back to Bobby's desk. He whispered something to the men who nodded and went back to reading.

* * *

Later that day, I had been walking outside with Sam, not talking, just enjoying the nature around us. We were walking towards the outer layers of the car yard and getting closer to the forest that surrounds Bobby's house. I saw a figure that looked strangely familiar flicker between the trees. I brushed it off, but when it happened for a second time I took off sprinting after her into the woods.

I race through the underbrush, scraping my bare feet on rocks, cutting my face and arms on tree branches. The little girl is so much faster than me but I keep pushing. _I'm not letting her get away again._

I have zigged and zagged, turned, and doubled-backed so many times, I had no idea where I had come from, or where I was going. For all I know, I could have been going around in circles. I finally stop and twirl to take in my surroundings. I look to see that I'm surrounded by trees so thick I can't see past the first layer of them. I twirl once more and spot the figure again. I sprint in that direction.

I finally catch up to the figure when it stops in the middle of a clearing.

"Where have you been?" I call to her. "We've been looking for you two forever. Cara. Where are you Scott?"

"Sweetie. We left a long time ago," She smiles at me.

"Left?" I ask. Obviously I'm too tired from to understand what Cara's saying.

"Honey, we're dead. We have been for three years. People who only wanted to get to you took Scott and me. You. All of this," she spins around with her arms extended, "Is because of you. It's your fault." She has started coming towards me with a finger pointed in my direction. "You and your 'conditions' have been the cause of some many deaths and the suffering that you don't even know about. My death, _Scott's_ death, is all your fault. And guess what?" she adds with a humorless laugh. "Now, you are going to pay."

She keeps coming towards me and I trip and fall back onto the ground.

_I'm going to die. This is it._ I close my eyes and keep scooting away from her.

But the blow never comes.

I open my eyes and she's gone.

And now I'm alone. In the middle of the forest. With no way to get back to the house.

_Hallucination._ I think. _She was only a hallucination._

_It was all in my imagination._

* * *

**A/N: Sorry it was so short but more is coming soon!**

**_xoxo -L_**


	5. Chapter 5- New Numbers

_I open my eyes and she's gone._

_And now I'm alone. In the middle of the forest. With no way to get back to the house._

_**Hallucination**__.__ I think. __**She was only a hallucination.**_

_**It was all in my imagination.**_

* * *

I sat in the middle of the forest in a clearing. Every once and awhile, I would hear the rustling of the trees or bushes, and get my hopes up that someone had found me.

I have been sitting in the damn spot for over two hours, I think.

_He_ showed up. Twice.

And _he_ is currently braiding my hair. Trying to get a rise out of me. Trying to pull me into that dark place I once belonged to.

I was doing better. For a while, at least. Until I saw Cara.

And then my walls came tumbling down. Along with the one I put up to keep _him_ out.

* * *

_I was sitting in my Honors Bio classroom sophomore year. I was taking notes on the diffusion of particles through the cell membrane, when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned and saw that a boy, my age or a year older, with shaggy brown hair and deep brown eyes was looking at me._

_I almost thought it was a joke. That he could be looking at me. But when he spoke, all I did was listen._

"_Hey, you're that new girl. Lennox, right?" I nodded. "I'm Scott Vassar, captain of the lacrosse team."_

"_Uh, Lennox Sinclair, but you obviously already knew that," I said as I blushed. 'Cheeks' I thought 'really now is not the best time to be apples'. _

"_Yeah. I was wondering if you wanted to come to one of my games with some of your friends or whatever. Or you don't have to bring your friends and you can just come by yourself…" he babbled. When I didn't respond right away her must have thought I interpreted that as the sexual kind of 'come'. "Come! To the game I mean," he rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at his notebook. The bell rang but I quickly scribbled my number on a piece of paper and handed it to him._

"_I would love to go to one of your games, Scott," I said as I gathered up my things. I turned to face him and he was smiling._

"_Okay… um cool. I'll see you then. The next game is tomorrow, by the way."_

"_I'll be there," I said as I walked out of the bio classroom. I was then bombarded by my cheer friends who I had just had bio with about what Scott wanted and how he was the hottest guy in school. They emphasized the fact that **I** made **him** blush, which made blush and made them coo at me about how cute we will be together._

_And I couldn't shake the feeling that they were right._

* * *

**Sam's POV**

I ran back to Bobby's house. Flinging the door open with a bang, I caused Dean and Bobby to have a heart attack.

"Where's Len?" Dean asked.

"She's gone."

* * *

**A/N: He guys. I'm HELLA SUPER SORRY that I have not been updating… like at all. I have to AP courses, coaching, and training going on right now along with some family stuff. These, however, are not excuses. I feel really bad and I have updated ****Dean's Little Girl**** in over a month but this would be easier to update with kind of a filler chapter. ****I will try my hardest to post as soon as possible.**

**Guys, I love writing about Lennox's past, so if you have any ideas for flashbacks like the one in this chapter please let me know through a review of PM.**

**Disclaimer: I only own Lennox, Scott, and Cara. **

**xoxo -L**


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